"Yes," I replied, sitting down, taking his hand, and making him sit down by me on a little couch which he had drawn before the fire. "Yes, every one was out this morning, when I called and found the house shut up. Oh, Cornelius! how I thought of that with terror and dismay, as I came along the lanes."
"The lanes!--you came by the lanes?" cried Cornelius, turning pale: "alone along that desolate road, where a cry for aid never could be heard! Daisy, how dare you do such a thing? How could they allow it?"
"Cornelius, who would be out on such a night to harm me? As to daring, I would have dared anything. Mrs. Brand remonstrated, and sent, I believe, a servant after me; but I outstripped him easily. Terror lent me her wings."
"I thought you felt no fear?"
"No fear of man, but a most sickening cowardly dread of fever. Oh, Cornelius! if I had found you ill, or in danger of death, what should I have done, what would have become of me?"
The mere thought was a torment that again sent the freezing blood to my heart. I shivered, and drew close to him.
"There! you are quite pale again," said Cornelius, anxiously. "Oh, Daisy!
do you then love me so much--so very much?"
I looked up, and smiled at the question. But his face was burning, and expressed mingled pleasure, doubt, and pain.
"Oh!" he continued, taking my hands in his, and speaking hesitatingly, "what am I to think of the girl who forgets her friend?"
"I knew you were vexed and angry about the party," I interrupted. "I saw you."
"And then, on the first false alarm, who returns to him so kindly, on a stormy night, by a dreary way, fearless though alone."
"Now, Cornelius, what have I done that a good sister, or friend, or daughter, would not do?"
Cornelius dropped my hands, and said, abruptly: "Do you not feel chill?"
"Not with that fire. Do you know, Cornelius, now I am here again with you and Kate, I don"t see why I should go back to Poplar Lodge. Suppose you ask me to stay. Well, what are you doing?"
He had stood up, and was pouring out a gla.s.s of wine, which he handed to me.
"Take it," he said.
"To please you, Cornelius: but I do not want it. The sight of your face at the door was more reviving than wine to me."
I just tasted the wine, and handed him the gla.s.s. He drank off its contents. His hand, in touching mine, had felt feverish, and he looked rather pale.
"You are unwell," I said, uneasily.
"Unwell!" he echoed, gaily. "I never felt better."
He poured himself out another gla.s.s of wine, but I took it from him.
"You must not!" I exclaimed, imperatively. "Oh, Cornelius! be careful," I added, imploringly.
He laughed at my uneasiness; but there was something dreary in the sound of his laughter, which I did not like.
"I tell you I am well--quite well," he persisted; "but I feel uneasy about you, Daisy. How this night will fatigue you! I dare not tell you to go to your room, lest it should be too chill; but will you try and sleep here?"
"On condition that, when I am asleep, you will go up, and take some rest yourself."
He promised to do so; and, to please him, I laid my head on the pillow of the couch. He removed the lamp from my eyes, but in vain I closed them, and tried to sleep. Every now and then I kept opening them again, and talking in that excited way, which is the result of over-wrought emotion.
"Cornelius," I said, "I am now quite resolved to stay with you. I should feel too miserable to be even a day away. Always thinking about typhus, you know."
"Sleep, child," was his only reply.
I tried; but awhile afterwards I was again talking.
"And the Academy!" I said, "and "The Young Girl Reading"! Are the other pictures sold?"
I half-rose on one elbow to look at Cornelius, who sat a little behind me. Without answering, he made me lie down again, and laid his hand on my eyes and brow. He possessed, perhaps, something of mesmeric power, for unconsciously I fell asleep; but mine was not a deep or perfect slumber.
I was aware of a change that I could not understand or define. I felt, however, some one bending over me, and a long and lingering kiss was pressed on my brow.
"It is Cornelius going up-stairs," I thought even in my sleep, but without awakening. My next remembrance is that I looked up with sudden terror, and that I found myself face to face with Kate, who sat by the table weeping bitterly. I looked for Cornelius and saw him not.
"Kate, Kate!" I cried, starting to my feet, "where is he? What has happened?"
She shook her head and never replied.
I crossed the room and opened the door of the front parlour; it was empty and in confusion; I ran to the front door, opened it, and looked down the moonlit street.
"Cornelius!" I cried, "Cornelius!"
I paused and listened; all I heard was the sound of a carriage rolling away in the distance. My voice died on my lips in broken accents; my arms fell by my side powerless and dead. He was gone! gone without a word of explanation or adieu. In this one circ.u.mstance I read a remote journey and a long absence, and yet I would believe in neither. I re-entered the parlour where Kate still sat in the same att.i.tude. I went up to her.
"So he is gone to Yorkshire to see Mr. Smalley?" I said agitatedly.
"He is gone to Spain," she briefly answered.
My heart fell.
"To Spain! for a few months, I suppose?"
"For years!"
"I don"t believe it!" I cried, angrily; "he could not, would not do such a thing. You want to frighten me, Kate, but I don"t believe you; no, I don"t."
"You do; in your heart you do; in your heart you know it."
I did know it; for I gave way to a burst of pa.s.sion and grief, and spoke to Kate as I never before had spoken.
"Gone! gone to Spain, and for years! Kate! how dare you let him go and not tell me?"
She looked up at me; her eyes flashing through her tears.
"And how dare you speak so to me, foolish girl? Is Cornelius anything so near to you as he is to me? Did you rear him, sacrifice your youth to him, and then find yourself cast aside and forsaken, as I am this day?"
"He reared me," I cried, weeping pa.s.sionately. "Claim him by all you have sacrificed to him, my claim is all he has been to me! Oh! Kate, why did he go?"